I Kissed a Rogue (Covent Garden Cubs) (27 page)

She
loved
him.

But he could not go back. The Brook that had loved her had been a different person. That man was but a distant memory.

Lila pressed her cheek against his shoulder and curled into him. Their legs tangled at the ankles, and he tried very hard not to imagine lifting one of those legs and resting it over his hip. He could slide into her heat quite easily that way.

Not tonight.

Tonight, he would sleep. He closed his eyes and tried to settle his body, but where to put his hands? He shifted one under his head but the other kept falling over the lush curve of her hip. All too easy to cup her rounded bottom from that position.

His cock ached uncomfortably, and Brook gritted his teeth.

Lila’s breathing slowed, and while he struggled to find a comfortable position, she was soon sleeping. Damn the woman, and damn his misguided sense of chivalry. If only his body would listen to his sense of honor.

The easiest way to avoid being stirred up by her was to turn his back to her. All he need do was push her off him and roll over. She didn’t weigh much, and it would be easily accomplished. But all Brook did was think of moving her out of his arms. In the end, he couldn’t tear himself away.

Sixteen

Lila’s wrist looked like it had been run over by a carriage wheel. By the next morning, her normally slender hand had swollen to twice its size, and her wrist was as thick as her palm. She could not even manage to fit a glove over the offensive-looking body part. She kept it tucked in her pelisse all through breakfast, which made for difficulty eating.

When she remembered to eat, that was.

Most of the time, she could not seem to keep her gaze from straying to her husband’s face. He looked exactly as he had yesterday and the day before, although he’d shaved at the posting house and now the scruff from his chin was gone. She liked seeing the razor-sharp lines of his cheeks and jaw, but she kept expecting him to look different somehow. Of course, why should he? She was not the first woman he’d made love to. He’d not been a virgin. Besides, all of her peeks in the mirror had shown her that her own face looked exactly the same as it had last night.

No sign proclaiming her lost virtue had appeared on her forehead. No blood even stained the sheets where they’d slept the night before. Brook’s quick attention with the towel had all but erased the evidence.

She wondered if she would be expunged from his thoughts as quickly once the annulment proceeded.

“Stay here,” Brook said, interrupting her perusal. She quickly lowered her gaze and toyed with her porridge.

“Where are you going?”

“I asked the proprietor to acquire supplies for us. I want to see if he’s done so. Keep the ice on your wrist. It will help with the swelling.”

Obediently, she placed her wrist on the small block of ice she’d been given, but as soon as Brook was gone, she lifted it again. She knew ice was rare and expensive, even in the winter, but her wrist hurt more on the ice than off. She supposed she should have been thankful it was her wrist and not her ankle, although had it been her ankle, she might have been able to stay at the posting house another night. Lila did not look forward to the long, cold walk back to the hovel or the rustic conditions once they arrived.

She should have enjoyed her time there, as it would be over soon and she’d probably never see Brook again. She had been such a fool not to see his value when they’d first met. All she’d seen was a boy without a title or power or sense of style. Now she knew none of those attributes meant a man had any substance, any character. Brook was the sort of man who considered the needs of others before his own. It might not have been fashionable to chase down thieves in Spitalfields or search for missing people in Seven Dials, but he did it all the same. He genuinely cared about the welfare of others. How had she thought an intricately tied cravat comparable?

One day, Brook would fall in love with a woman, and when he did, he would love her with the sort of devotion and faithfulness Lila knew of only from novels. And to think, if she hadn’t been such a fool, that woman might have been her. She’d probably grow old with only her memories of the time they’d spent together.

The door to the private room opened, and Lila quickly set her wrist on the ice again. But instead of Brook, a young woman with light brown hair and bright blue eyes stood in the doorway. Her hair had been pulled into a loose mass of curls, but much of it had come free and tumbled about her shoulders and her pale cheeks. She wore a bright blue redingote with ruffles and pleating down the front, and a matching bonnet hung from one gloved wrist. Lila knew immediately from the woman’s dress, she was someone of wealth and importance.

But something about what way she stood, with one hand on her hip, belied that she was a lady.

“Are you Mrs. Brook Derring?” she asked.

Lila nodded, still staring at the woman. Her speech had been perfectly correct, but something about it did not sound quite right.

“And who are you?” Lila asked, rising.

The girl turned away from her. “Max, it’s true! There was a wedding. Brook’s wife is in here.”

Booted footsteps rattled the boards beneath her feet and then a man stood behind the woman. He swept off his hat and gave Lila a ceremonious bow. Lila immediately curtsied.

“Forgive us for intruding, Mrs. Derring,” he said, his speech that of a perfect nobleman.

“The proprietor said we might find you in here,” the woman added. “We had to see this for ourselves.”

“We should introduce ourselves,” the man said, though Lila had already inferred who they were. The man was tall with brown hair and brown eyes. He and Brook were of a height, and though Brook’s hair was lighter and his eyes darker, the resemblance was too strong to miss. This must be Lord Dane, the earl and Brook’s brother.

“I am Lord Dane and this is my wife, Lady Dane. I believe you are now my sister by marriage.”

“Yes,” Lila finally managed. “I’m so pleased to meet you, my lord. My lady.” She curtsied to each.

“You don’t have to call me
my lady
,” the countess said. “You can call me Marlowe.”

“Marlowe?” Lila remembered the stories in the paper now. The earl had married a former thief. This must be she. “I’m Lad—Lillian-Anne, but everyone calls me Lila.”

“A pleasure, Lila,” the earl said. “You are the eldest daughter of the Duke of Lennox?”

“Yes. I believe we met years ago.”

“I remember, my lady. You had quite the come out.” Dane entered the room and looked about. “Where is my brother?”

“He went to speak with the proprietor about supplies. We’re staying at the cottage nearby.”

Dane’s eyes widened. “What the deuce is he thinking taking you there?”

“You have a house nearby?” Marlowe asked.

“Not exactly.” He pulled out a chair and gestured to his wife.

“No, thank you. My arse is sore from too much sitting as it is.”

Lila coughed, but the earl didn’t seem the least bit offended.

“I take it you do not know the reason for the marriage,” Lila said.

“Is there a reason?” Dane asked with a quick look at her waist. “Besides the usual, that is.”

“The dowager wrote to summon us to the wedding,” Marlowe said. “That was the extent of the letter. She often does quite a lot of summoning and not much explaining.”

“We were detained by heavy rains and flooding near Northbridge Abbey,” Dane said, “or we would have come sooner.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Lila said, “but one can hardly fault you, considering the abruptness of the wedding.”

The earl nodded, obviously waiting for her to go on. Lila wondered where to begin and how much to reveal. The silence must have dragged on longer than the countess liked. Finally, she moved beside her husband. “Am I the only one wondering why the wedding had to occur so quickly?” she whispered loudly.

Lila laughed. The girl was gauche, but it seemed to come from a lack of guile. Lila found her oddly refreshing.

“We are waiting for Lady Lila to craft her response,” Dane answered, making very little effort at sotto voce.

“Her response to what?” Brook asked coming in behind his brother. “Don’t tell me you’ve begun the inquisition already. I thought I was the inspector.”

“Brook!” Marlowe flung herself at him, embracing him hard and with obvious ease. Lila wondered if she would ever feel as comfortable embracing her own husband.

Dane patted his brother on the shoulder and ruffled his hair, which seemed to annoy Brook and amuse Dane. “Where is Hunt?” the earl asked. “He’s been lax in his duties.”

“He’s in London with Dorrington, watching Beezle.”

“Beezle?” Marlowe parted the two men, shouldering herself between them. “Not the Beezle I know.”

“The same. In fact, you’re well met,” Brook said, moving toward the table where Lila stood. “I’d like to ask you some questions, if you don’t mind.”

He indicated the chair Dane had pulled out earlier, but this time, instead of complaining about her backside, the countess sat. Lila sat as well, knowing the men could not do so until both ladies were seated.

Brook gave a succinct accounting of the events leading up to their marriage. Lila was curious to see whether he would mention his plans for annulment, but he said nothing of it, as though marrying a woman to protect her from a crime lord were an everyday occurrence in his life. Perhaps it was. She hadn’t thought to ask if he’d been married before.

“Marlowe,” he said after he’d finished with the summary, “I wondered if you could think back and recall any political men Beezle might have associated with—MPs or lords or the like.”

Marlowe’s brow furrowed and she lifted her thumb to her mouth, then, realizing she had her gloves on, lowered it again.

Lila could not help but interrupt. “Forgive me for asking, but how do you know this Beezle? Was it from the time you were a…the time you lived in St. Giles?”

Marlowe smiled at her. “I do know I was a pickpocket and a housebreaker. I’ve never pretended differently, and in this case, you’re in luck. Beezle was part of my gang, the Covent Garden Cubs. I wouldn’t call him a crony. We never liked each other much.”

“And this is the same man who abducted me? Is that sort of thing common?”

“Not when I was in the gang, though I wouldn’t put it past Beezle. He was never afraid of taking a risk, and abduction isn’t anything new. Satin—he was the old arch rogue—abducted me. The difference is that I was a child. I can’t see why they’d abduct a woman unless it’s for ransom.”

“That was my thought,” Brook added. “There have been a few other instances of that sort of thing going on, but I couldn’t tie them to Beezle.”

“What is an arch rogue?” Lila asked.

“The prince prig,” Marlowe answered. “The dimber-damber upright man.”

“The leader,” Dane supplied. “When I met Marlowe, Satin was the leader. He was hanged at Tyburn, and Beezle took his place in the gang.”

“The Covent Garden Cubs are one of the most powerful gangs in London right now,” Brook said. “Beezle took what Satin started and expanded it. There’s nary a gin house or a bawd in Seven Dials who doesn’t pay something to Beezle to keep trouble away.”

“Beezle is the trouble, no doubt,” Dane added.

“Considering he’s mostly built upon what Satin began, I thought he might have retained some of his political contacts. Did you ever see Satin or Beezle with a Mr. Fitzsimmons, an MP?”

Marlowe looked down at the table. She tapped a finger in a staccato rhythm. Finally, she shook her head. “I don’t remember any politicians, any swells at all to tell you the truth. Sure, the swells were bubbles—I mean, what’s the word?” She looked at Dane.

“Victims?”

She rolled her eyes. “Right, but Satin would never have trusted a nob any more than he’d trust a pig.” She looked at Brook. “Oops, sorry.”

“I’m not a Bow Street Runner, but I suppose I qualify as a pig all the same.”

“Yes, but you’re the best sort of pig,” she said, kissing his cheek and holding out her hand. In it, his gold pocket watch flashed. “Just keeping in practice,” she said when he took it back.

“What about me?” Dane asked.

She kissed his cheek. “You are the best sort of nob.”

Lila could see the love between husband and wife, between the entire family. It was obvious the trick of picking Brook’s pocket was one the countess had done in the past. It had the feel of an inside joke. Lila’s family had had their own, but that was before her mother had died.

“I’m sorry not to be more help, but a week away from the rookery is like a year, which means I’ve been gone decades. I will say that if I had yellow boys and was looking for someone to filch the daughter of a duke, Beezle would be an easy choice.”

“But no one wanted me filched—er, abducted,” Lila argued. “I was kidnapped for ransom.”

“Beezle told you that?” Marlowe asked.

“No. He didn’t tell me anything except I would be sorry I’d seen the murder.”

“He would have killed you to rid himself of the witness. Unfortunately, if he’d filched you for ransom, that means he wouldn’t be paid.”

“That is unfortunate,” Brook said, “but he didn’t expect her to see. He thought she was locked in a cellar.”

“I still don’t think he would have killed her until after he had the blunt,” Marlowe said.

Brook ran a hand though his hair. “I hadn’t considered that angle. I don’t know what Beezle was thinking because Dorrington found her before Beezle had a chance to kill her. Considering what she saw, I believe she’s in danger.”

“I agree,” Marlowe said. “And you’re right to hide out here. Beezle knows London better than his ugly mug, but he doesn’t know the countryside. Still, I feel…” She looked at Dane, and he nodded.

“I’ll take care of it.”

Lila wondered how married people did that, how they managed to communicate without words. She and Brook could barely communicate with words.

“Take care of what?” Brook asked.

“Making the staff of Northbridge aware of a possible threat. I don’t want anything to happen to Lyndon or Maxwell while we’re away.”

“Beezle is after Lila, not your sons,” Brook said, “but it’s not a bad idea. One cannot be too careful when dealing with a man like Beezle.”